


Arcadia

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Children of Witchwood [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe- Historical, Brief Mentions of Titties, F/F, Fade to Black, Family, Fluff, Gardens, Magic, Romance, Witches, i will fill this ship tag by myself so help me god, not actually explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: Rinea lives in a world of wonders. But even though she's grown well-acquainted with the magic that seeps into her every waking moment, there is still something missing, in the form of the woman who opened her eyes to it in the first place. Sequel toMoonflower.





	Arcadia

**Author's Note:**

> yknow i hadn't intended to ever write more in the moonflower setting. like, sometimes things can just be self-contained. but also actually yknow what i really like this au and it's y'all's problem now. peace

There is magic in the hills, and there is magic in the forest, and most recently, there is magic in Rinea's garden.  
  
Sonya whistles while she works, walking through the trellises of tiny jingling berries and touching up the wards she's set that repel pests and predators, the lines in her fingertips glowing gold. It suits her more than Rinea thought it might've, the simple, thoughtless magic. She'd always pictured Sonya as extravagant in all she does, whether that is pushing aside an entire tree to clear a path through the forest or conjuring sparks in her hand. Perhaps _extravagance_ isn't the right word; perhaps _elegance_ is better suited to her. Elegance, refinement— skill, to put it succinctly.  
  
It really is easier with two sets of hands. Rinea is no frail maiden, and Sonya knows this, but she also says that there's no reason for Rinea to do all of the work when she's there to help. And Rinea, even with all her pride, will admit that it's quite a relief to not have to divide her attentions between the unique needs of magical plants and the burgeoning apothecary that's taking shape in her kitchen, not to mention two toddlers too smart for their own good that have just learned how to climb.  
  
Sonya rests her arms on the kitchen windowsill as Rinea goes through the little square drawers of her apothecary cabinet, searching for the dried marigold. "Having troubles?" she asks. She's in a loose white shirt and fitted black pants, and her jewelry clinks and clatters around her neck and wrists, and her tinted glasses are pushed onto her forehead. She wears them to hide the gold shine in her eyes that's just a bit too vibrant to be human— or maybe just to keep the glare of the sun down.  
  
"I know exactly where everything is," Rinea replies. To prove her point, she opens the drawer labeled Queen Anne's lace and pulls out a tiny jar of crushed marigold petals. "You see?"  
  
Sonya tucks her hands into her elbows and rests her chin on her forearms. "I stand corrected," she says. Her voice is fond and her soft brown eyes are gentle, and Rinea feels herself melt a little, just because Sonya has that effect.  
  
"Are the wards holding?" Rinea asks.  
  
"Well, I haven't seen any signs of anything nibbling on the tomato leaves," Sonya says. "So that's promising. But I suppose it's only been a week."  
  
That is true. "We'll just have to keep a look out, then," Rinea decides. She puts a few pinches of marigold into the mortar with the rest of the ingredients, and squints at the recipe in the book. Three moonflower petals didn't work last time, so perhaps four is the right amount? While she ponders, Genny uses the spindle of Rinea's worktable as a foothold and peers over the tabletop. She reaches for one of the bunches of dried moonflowers, succeeds in grabbing it and stepping back down to the floor without Rinea noticing, and she's about to try and figure it out by putting it in her mouth until Sonya snaps her fingers and the bunch of moonflowers flies into her hand.  
  
Genny giggles and claps. "Magic twick!" she crows. "Again!"  
  
"In due time, tiny one," Sonya promises, mussing Genny's hair on her way back into the kitchen. She sets the bunch of moonflowers back on Rinea's worktable, far back enough that Genny can't reach them.  
  
"Oh, I didn't even notice," Rinea tsks. "I should know better. Genny's curiosity will get the better of me one of these days."  
  
"She's very bright," Sonya agrees. "They both are. I'd say they resemble you in that regard."  
  
Rinea's cheeks dust with color and she looks back at her worktable. "No, that can't be true," she says. "I've never been that smart."  
  
Sonya's hand comes to rest on top of hers. More than anything, Rinea craves the sensation of being in Sonya's arms, feeling her touch, the gentle kisses to the crown of her head, the warmth of the magic in her veins cutting through any chill Rinea feels and warming her straight to her core with gentle golden light. But Sonya doesn't dare get any closer, and on some level Rinea understands— it's been over years since they were last together, and a week together once more won't bring them back to where they were, and Sonya, sweet, gentle Sonya, is careful, as always, not to push her boundaries without her say-so. (Still, Rinea is but a woman of flesh and blood, and she wants very much for Sonya to throw caution to the wind and kiss her like they were never apart.)  
  
"Come now, sweet moonflower," Sonya chides her gently. "Give yourself some credit. Look at what you've done here."  
  
Rinea looks at her recipe book. It's all her own handwriting, trial and error and experimentation, using knowledge picked up from Tatiana and the village physician as a base and adding in a little bit of magic— moonflower and chickweed for a potent anti-inflammatory, glowfruit and ginger in salve to treat frostbite, witchberry dried and mixed into oatmeal to make it sweeter and more appealing to fussy toddlers. She's been wanting to try and find stinging cattails because she doesn't cultivate any, but she doesn't really have the time to venture into the magic-filled woods to find some. She might be the mother to a pair of magic children, but she herself doesn't have a drop of magical blood, and she's not sure how the woods would react to that.  
  
She sighs. "You're right," she says. "Just a moment of doubt, I suppose. I'm sorry."  
  
"You've nothing to be sorry for," Sonya promises. "But my forgiveness is yours, for now and for always."  
  
"What in the world did I do to deserve you?" Rinea murmurs.  
  
"A question I often ask myself," Sonya replies. For a moment they both hesitate; three years ago Sonya would've kissed her— the bridge of her nose or the furrow of her brow, or maybe Rinea would've been the one to lean in and press her lips to Sonya's cheek or chin or perhaps her mouth, slow and gentle and languid as if they had all the time in the world to be in love. Rinea misses that, even though she knows that, out here, there are no parents and no suitors and no wedding plans. Out here, if she wanted to kiss Sonya like women kiss their husbands or wives, she doesn't have to hide it. And she _does_ want to kiss Sonya, she wants it very deeply, but although Sonya almost gets closer, her hand edging closer to Rinea's, she pulls away and takes strands of Rinea's heart with her like strings of soft taffy drawn into threads so thin they float. Her absence aches, aches even though Sonya is right within arm's reach.  
  
A knock on the door. Rinea hears Genny's toddling footsteps padding towards the front door as fast as her short legs can take her, which isn't very— and she falls over trying to turn the corner from the kitchen to the front hall. This doesn't deter her. She gets back up very quickly, but she still doesn't beat Rinea to the front door.  
  
"I get it!" Genny insists, reaching for the doorknob. "Mama, I get it!"  
  
Rinea smiles and steps back. "Okay, Genny, you get it," she says.  
  
Genny reaches up and turns the knob, carefully pulling it open. Sister Tatiana's on the front porch, all warm smiles and bright eyes. "Good morning!" Tatiana says cheerfully.  
  
"G'mowning, Auntie Tanya," Genny says around the finger in her mouth, one hand holding Rinea's apron for security. Tatiana brightens, if that's even possible. Rinea understands.  
  
"Good morning to you, too, Genny," Tatiana says, bending over to get closer to Genny's level. Genny giggles and buries her face in Rinea's skirt. Tatiana stands back up and puts a hand on her chest.  
  
"Auntie," she sighs dreamily. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."  
  
"You deserve it," Rinea says, and means it. "You're here for the wolfrose, right?" Genny tugs on her skirt and reaches up, so Rinea picks her up.  
  
"Oh, right," Tatiana remembers. "You know, you've made a name for yourself in town. We've already run out of the dried stormseed for that lavender balm you taught Mother Antje to make because it's in such high demand."  
  
"I've got some ready-made to spare," Rinea says, leading Tatiana back through the house with Genny on her hip. "I'll pack some up for you. Duma knows _I'm_ not doing anything with it."  
  
"Oh, Rin, would you?" Tatiana pleads. "That'd be such a help. You know now that summer's started, the fishermen are bringing in big hauls out from the ocean, and we've gotten a lot of them in the clinic with strained muscles. Your lavender balm is a godsend— but you still have enough for yourself, don't you?"  
  
Rinea chuckles modestly. "I'm glad I could help," she says. "I've got more than I need, Tanya, don't worry about me." She sets Genny down on the living room rug with Kliff, who's been entertaining himself with a set of little wooden building blocks passed down from one of the other village mothers. They're both equally wonderful, with their own quirks and preferences, but Kliff has thus far proven himself to be more of a thinker than a talker.  
  
Sonya's back out in the garden, tending to the strings of beads wrapped around the stalks of the phoenix down, her glasses back down and guarding her eyes from the summer sunshine. Golden magic flickers up the scars in her arms as she checks the wards. Tatiana stares despite herself while Rinea fills up Tatiana's empty basket with bunches of amber nettle, witchberry, and the promised wolfrose, as well as a few scoops of stormseed from the box, poured into a little cheesecloth bag.  
  
"You know, Lady Sonya has such lovely tattoos," Tatiana remarks. "I've never seen anything quite like them." Rinea stiffens, just a bit, thinking that she's referring to the magic— but given that it's Tatiana, and Rinea knows her quite well by now, there's a fair chance she's talking about the arms that the "tattoos" adorn.  
  
"It's, ah, a cultural thing," Rinea lies. "East coast, you know. I hope this is enough stormseed, but if you run out again, just let me know. The stalks should be ready for harvest soon, so I'll be able to get more seeds."  
  
Tatiana blinks. "Oh, right, the stormseed," she remembers. "This ought to be enough to cover it." She takes three silver marks out of her coin purse and hands them to Rinea.  
  
Rinea shakes her head. "No, the stormseed is on the house," she promises, handing one of the coins back. "I can't take more of your money, Tanya."  
  
"You deserve every bit," Tatiana insists. "Besides, Mother Antje insisted. She gave me that money personally and told me that I'd best make sure you take it. Would you _really_ have me defy Mother Antje's direct orders?"  
  
Rinea sighs. "Alright, fine," she caves. "If Mother Antje insists."  
  
Tatiana grins. "I knew you'd see reason."  
  
"Mother Antje is rather difficult to argue with," Rinea admits. Though maybe that was just because Rinea was terrible at arguing with anyone and in fact had trouble asking for help without wanting to cry. The fact that she was able to haltingly open up to Tatiana the night she arrived is a testament to Tatiana's unrelenting aura of gentleness and security.  
  
"The phoenix down looks like it'll be ready to harvest soon," Sonya says to Rinea, coming back inside through the back door. She nods politely to Tatiana. "Hello, Sister."  
  
Tatiana coughs. "Oh, yes, good morning," she replies. "Well, I certainly hope this will be enough stormseed."  
  
"If you mix in just a bit of wyrmsaid extract, it'll enhance the stormseed's effects," Sonya suggests. "Though, admittedly, getting the extract is the hard part."  
  
Rinea hadn't known that. "Wyrmsaid?" she repeats, jotting that down in her notebook— the notebook that started as a sketchbook full of drawings of roses and irises and tulips and eventually became her medicinal lodebook. "I'll have to try that. If wyrmsaid extract enhances the effects of stormseed, then maybe it'll do the same for other plants of the same family? I wonder…"  
  
Sonya sighs, smiling with soft, warm fondness as Rinea turns to another page and writes down her ideas. It's the kind of look that makes Rinea's cheeks flush. Even after knowing Sonya all the years she has, even after the time they shared falling in love in the woods just past Rinea's family home, there are times Rinea's doubts creep in, threatening to take her back to the stiff uncertainty that defined her life with her parents and Rigelian nobility. But when Sonya looks at her like that, as if all the magic in the world couldn't have made a creature more wonderous than Rinea herself, she forgets all the times she felt alone.  
  
"So, Lady Sonya," Tatiana says, snapping both Rinea and Sonya back to attention. "You're an apothecary, like Rin?"  
  
Sonya chuckles a little. "I do many things. A little apothecary, a little chemistry, a little brewery. I feel it's important for a modern woman to be well-rounded."  
  
"Oh, with a skill set like that, I'd say you certainly are," Tatiana says, clearly impressed. "You're quite impressive! I can see why Rin likes you so much."  
  
Rinea blushes, but she doesn't deny it. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and busies herself bundling up a few wyrmsaid blooms for extracting later.  
  
" _Does_ she?" Sonya teases, glancing over to Rinea. Rinea, try as she might, can't stop herself from smiling. "I had _no_ idea."  
  
"It's certainly clear to me!" Tatiana titters. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it and bring this back to Mother Antje."  
  
"I'll walk you to the door," Rinea says. "Sonya, can you make sure Genny doesn't try to climb the cabinet drawers again?"  
  
"Your merest wish is to me the sternest command," Sonya promises, the theatricality of which prompts Rinea to roll her eyes while she walks Tatiana back to the front door and out onto the low porch, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Rinea shuts the door in anticipation of seeing Tatiana off, but Tatiana doesn't leave, and instead turns her coy smile to Rinea.  
  
"Well, don't you look pleased with yourself," Rinea remarks.  
  
Tatiana clasps Rinea's hands in hers and bounces in excitement. "Oh, Rin, I'm so happy for you!" she asks. "Miss Sonya is so poised and elegant! When in the world did you meet her? How long have you known? When were you going to tell me?"  
  
Rinea ducks her head, her cheeks pink. "Since before the twins were born," she says. "We met when I was still living, um, back in the city."  
  
Tatiana nods empathetically. "I'm so glad that you've reconnected with someone you trust," she says. "And she's quite something to look at, too! Those well-fitting trousers—"  
  
Rinea snaps back, aghast. "Tanya, you're a married woman!"  
  
Tatiana waves a hand. "Oh, yes, I am, and I love my Zeke dearly, but Rin, sweetheart, I'm _married_ , not _blind_."  
  
Tatiana leaves after assuring Rinea that the rest of the sisters at the church will greatly appreciate the stormseed. Rinea returns to the kitchen. It's getting on towards lunchtime, so while Sonya entertains the twins with little balls of colorful light she conjures from the palm of her hand, Rinea cuts slabs of bread from the loaf on the counter and fries a few eggs on the stove. Even she will admit that she's gotten pretty good at this whole homemaker thing, for someone who'd grown up with the expectation that there'd always be someone to do that kind of thing for her. It's even a point of quiet pride. So maybe she never could quite measure up to the standard for young society ladies— always a little smarter, a little prettier, a little out of reach— but can any of _them_ make a chicken pot pie? Rinea doesn't think so.  
  
The day goes on and takes its sweet time doing so, like so many others that Rinea's lived since leaving the city. That's not to say that Rinea's days are empty. Even if she didn't have twin toddlers to mind, she has her garden and her herbs and she just _knows_ someone's going to come knocking on her door looking to trade for a salve or a tonic or a powder or _oh, I don't know, you're the expert, whatever you think will work._ Sonya seems to be wherever Rinea needs the instant before Rinea's about to ask, and Rinea doesn't know if it's some sort of witchy mind-reading power or intuition or Sonya's just lucky, but an extra pair of hands does help things get done a bit faster and a bit easier. And Rinea can't say she doesn't want Sonya's company.  
  
But she does wish that the closeness didn't ache so.  
  
Sonya always stays until it's full dark, after the twins have gone to bed and dinner is cleaned up and the garden is set for the night. Rinea makes a pot of tea and sinks with a heavy sigh into her armchair, enjoying a moment's peace. They may talk, just a bit, but not quite the way they used to. They talk about the garden, about the medicines and what Rinea may need to stock up on for the coming seasons, or sometimes Sonya will give suggestions to Rinea for new recipes to try. And Rinea enjoys it, truly, but there's a tangible block between them— the weight of a three-year separation and all that happened during, made all the heavier for how much Rinea yearns to feel her touch again; phantom sensations and memories made all the more painful for how Sonya is close enough to touch and yet a hundred miles away.  
  
Rinea leaves her tea on the table for a minute to check on a sound she hears from the bedroom; it's only the breeze against the shutters, but Kliff's face is scrunched up, his tiny fingertips glowing a pale lavender. Rinea takes one of his hands in hers and combs her fingers through his hair until the glowing fades and his features relax, and the wind outside calms. She sees Sonya leaning on the door frame, the flames from the hearth gently flickering and tracing highlights in reds and oranges. There's sorrow written on her face, but she says nothing and does nothing.  
  
Rinea stands back up and meets her in the door frame. "Are we out of tea?" she asks, her voice low. "I'll pour you some more."  
  
Sonya shakes her head. "Don't worry about the tea," she says. "I was just thinking, I suppose."  
  
"What about?" Rinea sits back in her chair and Sonya follows suit, crossing her long legs at the knee and leaning one arm on the armrest of the sofa. The silence between them is thick. Sonya doesn't say what she was thinking about.  
  
She nods back to the bedroom. "They're beautiful children," she says. "They'd make strong mages, too, with the potential they're showing."  
  
Rinea hums. "I suppose they have my looks and your talents," she replies. "But they have your eyes, too."  
  
Sonya smiles sadly. "I suppose they do."  
  
"They're yours," Rinea tells her.  
  
"Are they?" Sonya replies.  
  
Rinea doesn't know how to answer that. Sonya finishes her tea and bids Rinea goodnight, and she feels like she's leaving all over again even though Rinea knows she'll be back come the morning. And come the evening, Rinea will make tea again, and they won't speak of tonight.  
  
Sonya keeps her hands busy with magic and the garden. Rinea's heard stories of witches that can make a flower bloom by holding a hand over it, but at the idea, Sonya only laughed, and said _if only it were that easy_. Magic or no, there's still tending to be done— still weeds to pull, still trellises to maintain, still pests to chase away and the weather to worry about. Witchberry is particularly fussy— it blooms at a very specific time in the spring and then produces berries at a very specific time in the summer, and outside of those times it needs special soil populated with magical worms and strict adherance to a watering schedule, and that's not even mentioning the fact that there's a short window during which the berries can be harvest, and if the berries happen to be harvested outside of that window, it kills the plant very quickly. Rinea's pretty sure the only reason she's still bothering with the witchberry is because she's determined to figure out how to grow one without killing it and too stubborn to give up.  
  
There are times where Sonya leaves, tending to obligations in Witchwood. Midsummer coming closer means strange things in the magical world— she's told Rinea, but after a point it makes her head spin. But she always returns, always with her gentle smiles and fond words, and Rinea wishes time and time again that she could forget about the separation and feel Sonya's touch like she used to.  
  
So the summer goes, long days and humid nights, summer vegetables and chilled fish, cotton coverlets and curtains swaying in the breeze, special days when Rinea has time to take the twins to the seashore and let them acquaint themselves with the ocean that'll be with them for as long as they live in the village. Sonya's gone for the days surrounding Midsummer, but on Rinea's hesitant ventures into the outskirts of Witchwood to gather more magic worms for the witchberry bushes, she feels the whispers of magic and watches the moss glow as the moonflower blooms rustle.  
  
Witchberry season ends. Rinea never thought she'd be so glad to throw out a dead bush. In its place come the Witchwood pomegranates, which make the most wonderful pies. Late summer days are golden and syrupy, passing with the languor of a rest on the sofa after a heavy meal, and Rinea spends them in her garden getting sunburn on her forearms and shoulders and cheeks and nose. She learns better, after that, and figures out that Mother Antje's favorite balm works as well on sunburns as it does on aches and pains.  
  
Summer ambles by like a whistled walking song. The twins are two and a half; their phrases are short and not exactly riveting, but it's no longer babbling, and Tatiana says that they'll be speaking in whole sentences before Rinea even knows it. The magic calms, in a sense— it's less often, but it's much more pronounced when it does happen, and neither of them understand it any better. Sonya promises her that the magic usually fades away on its own by the time a young witch is three, which is reassuring, but not particularly helpful in the moment.  
  
The nights are cool without the heat of the sun, though they're still unmistakably summer nights— crickets and cicadas fill the air with noise, joining the owls and the whisper of the breeze for an ongoing song. Rinea puts the twins to bed letting her lullaby fade into humming and the humming give way to the sounds of the summer night outside the bedroom window, left open to keep the air moving during the night. Sonya pours two mugs of tea in the front room, and she's waiting there when Rinea returns and shuts the door behind her, turning the handle so it doesn't make a sound.  
  
"I'll need to leave again when the Equinox comes," Sonya tells her. "Solstices and Equinoxes, those always stir things up in Witchwood. Could be worse, though— at least it's not on a full or new moon this year."  
  
"I can imagine that would intensify things, given what I know of magic," Rinea says, taking her mug and easing herself down onto the sofa. Sonya has one leg crossed over the other and her glasses resting on the table.  
  
Sonya waves a hand. "It's all moon phases and star positions and things," she says. "Things in Witchwood are particularly receptive. I maintain that it's the only difference between the magical and the mundane."  
  
"And here I thought it was the glowing," Rinea hums. "You learn something new every day."  
  
Sonya chuckles. "If only it were that easy."  
  
Rinea fidgets with the chipped handle of her teacup in the way that her parents always taught her not to do. It feels odd to hear her mother's voice in her head saying _sit up straight_ and _pay attention_ when she's sitting with her shoes off and her knees up on a creaky secondhand couch, looking at an earthenware teacup while sitting across from a witch. She supposes some things will never leave her.  
  
They finish their tea after quiet conversation; small things that Rinea forgets as soon as it's done. Sonya sets her empty teacup back down and thanks her for the day, and she sees herself out, and tonight— tonight is the night Rinea follows her down to the porch.  
  
Sonya turns. "Sweet moonflower?" she asks. The moonflowers are in full bloom, dotting the grass that sways in the breeze. They weren't there when Rinea moved in. Sonya says the moonflower seeds spread quickly, and they take root with little prompting. She expects there'll be moonflowers everywhere in the next few years, all because of Rinea's patch in the garden.  
  
"Why do you keep leaving?" Rinea asks.  
  
Sonya is quiet.  
  
"You leave every night," Rinea presses on. "You spend the days with me and the children and I love that you do, truly, but why do you leave? Don't you know that you have a home here? Don't you know that they're your children, too?"  
  
Sonya shakes her head. "But are they, Rinea?"  
  
Rinea falters. She looks from Sonya to the twins in the bedroom and back. "I don't follow."  
  
"I wasn't there for you," Sonya says, looking at the moonflowers. "I didn't get to learn the twins were coming when you did. I wasn't there for you while you were with child. I didn't see them born, didn't take care of them while you rested. I didn't see them first smile or sit up or speak or walk." Her hand curls into a fist. "I haven't been here for you. You've been raising them alone, but I should have been here to raise them with you."  
  
Rinea shakes her head. "Don't say that. I didn't tell you. You didn't know."  
  
Sonya's still looking at the flowers. "Perhaps," she says.  
  
"You're here now," Rinea tells her.  
  
"What right have I to be?" Sonya asks. "What right have I to show up in this wonderful home you have and act like I'm a part of it when I wasn't even there to help you build it?"  
  
"You're as much their mother as I am," Rinea insists. "Sonya, please—"  
  
"You know that isn't true," Sonya says.  
  
There are a million things that bubble up in Rinea's mind, a million things she wants to say and do. She wants to tell Sonya that it doesn't matter anymore, that she's forgiven, that there's a place for her here, that Rinea wants her here. She wants to grip her hands and kiss her until she gets it, until there are no more questions about whether or not she's welcome in Rinea's home. She wants to hold her close and not let go, not for anything in the world.  
  
"You sound like you're going to leave for good this time," Rinea says, her voice small and with an unspoken plea of _don't leave me, not when I've just found you again_.  
  
"If you wish it," Sonya says. "Say the word and I'll never bother you again."  
  
Rinea's body moves before her mind does. She takes the two steps down from the porch on her bare feet with more force than is perhaps necessary and she walks until she's face to face with Sonya. Her hands are in fists, but whatever she was going to say leaves her with her anger and all that remains is empty and raw. Her lip trembles, and she clenches her jaw to force it to steady.  
  
"What if I want you to stay?" Rinea asks, meeting Sonya's eye.  
  
Sonya says nothing, so Rinea presses on.  
  
"What do I say to make you stay with me, Sonya?" Rinea repeats. "What do I say to convince you that I want you here? What do I say to convince you that there's a space for you in my home, and it's by my side, and this time it's forever? What do I say to get it through to you that—"  
  
Her voice breaks. She sucks in a breath and ignores the tears on her cheeks.  
  
"How do I tell you that I missed you so much it ached?" she whispers. "How do I tell you that my idea of a home in't complete without being back in your arms again?"  
  
Sonya's eyes are soft and so, so warm. "Sweet moonflower," she says.  
  
Rinea swallows hard. "Tell me, Sonya," she says— demands, if it's what will keep her from leaving. "How do I tell you that I want you to stay?"  
  
Sonya says nothing, but she reaches out, and Rinea takes her hand. She brings it to her cheek. Sonya's touch is tender and Rinea wants to sink into it and the warmth it makes her feel like she could never be cold again.  
  
"Your love is a gift," Sonya says. "Will you give it so freely?"  
  
"I can think of no one more worthy," Rinea replies. "Please, Sonya. Please stay with me."  
  
She leans in, leaning up just a bit, until Sonya's forehead rests against hers. The summer night is warm but not too sticky, cooled by the ocean breeze. The magical plants in the garden cast a soft glow over the rows and trellises. Scattered across the grass by the walk and the fields around the property, the moonflowers glow like tiny stars.  
  
"Then, in that case," Sonya murmurs, her breath warm on Rinea's lips, her hands coming to settle on Rinea's waist. "Your merest wish is to me the sternest command."  
  
"Kiss me?" Rinea asks.  
  
Sonya does, and Rinea forgets what it's like to feel alone.  
  
Sonya draws her closer and Rinea sinks into her touch, her hands reaching up to rest on Sonya's cheeks. It feels like her memories, and like when Sonya kissed her the day she came back, and Rinea feels an ache in her core that reminds her of how much she's been craving Sonya's touch. She craves, she aches, she wants— it's enough to make her dizzy, or maybe that's just because she forgot to breathe.  
  
Her head spins. She sinks to her knees, night air rushing cold over her lips where Sonya's were, and Sonya goes down with her until they're both on the ground. Rinea laughs breathlessly, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear— it always escapes from the knot she wears it in, she doesn't know why she even bothers— and kisses the worried furrow in Sonya's brow.  
  
"Are you feeling alright?" she asks. "Should we go back inside? Is it the heat?"  
  
Rinea shakes her head. "Just got caught up in kissing you, that's all," she promises. "Don't worry about me."  
  
"I'm afraid that's my job," Sonya says solemnly. Rinea laughs, a light and welcome sound in the summer air.  
  
Sonya kisses her again, gentle and slow. Rinea's the one who pushes more, who pulls closer, trying to make up for lost time. Heat rises to her cheeks and her lips. Sonya's mouth finds Rinea's jaw, down to her neck, down to her collar. Rinea's mouth shapes itself around half-sounds that she breathes out. Rinea feels the magic swirling, churning just beneath Sonya's skin, yearning to be released. She aches. She wants.  
  
"Sonya," Rinea breathes. "My love."  
  
"My sweet moonflower," Sonya murmurs. "I've missed you. I treasure these moments we share now as much as we did those years ago."  
  
"But things are different now," Rinea says, pushing her fingers through Sonya's hair. She's had it tied into a ponytail that rests on her shoulder as of late; easier to manage when dealing with fussy plans and fussier toddlers. It slips loose easily. Rinea half-expects that Sonya will manage the same with hers, sooner or later.  
  
"Now," she says. "These moments are ours. My time is my own, and I can spend as much of it as I like loving you." She kisses the corner of Sonya's mouth. "And rest assured, I intend to do so, as long as you intend to stay."  
  
"Are we sure that _I'm_ the witch here, and not you?" Sonya teases. "With such sweet words, I'm beginning to think you've put a spell on me."  
  
Rinea laughs, pushing herself close enough she can tuck her head into the crook of Sonya's neck. She's nearly sitting aside Sonya's thigh— hardly ladylike, but Rinea's pretty sure that ship has sailed by now.  
  
"Well, so be it," she says, with a kiss to Sonya's neck. She slows, for a moment, and shuts her eyes to breathe in the warmth that Sonya emmanates.  
  
"May I…" Sonya murmurs. Her hand comes to the buttons on Rinea's front, holding the top of her dress together. Rinea nods. She undoes the first one, and Sonya shifts to kiss the skin she uncovers. Rinea hums assent. Sonya undoes another button. Another. Another.  
  
Sonya kisses her. Her lips, her chin, her neck. Her collarbone. Her breastbone. Rinea feels Sonya's hands on her back as she's lowered to the ground, settled among the moonflowers, and Rinea welcomes it, pulling Sonya down with her.  
  
Sonya breathes, pulling back and smiling at her with that deep warmth that banishes all of Rinea's doubts. Flowers and fertile topsoil do absolutely nothing to soften the hard ground, but Rinea doesn't care. Sonya is there and smiling and kissing her, and Rinea couldn't ask for anything more.  
  
"My love," Sonya murmurs. Their lips meet again, kisses filling the space between phrases like comfortable silence. "You are, I think, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."  
  
"Funny," Rinea hums. "I thought the same about you, the moment we met."  
  
"Has that opinion changed at all, out of curiosity?" Sonya asks.  
  
"Mm, no," Rinea admits. "But you're going to have to share the spot with the twins."  
  
Sonya chuckles. "I can live with that."  
  
They kiss again. Rinea lets herself float, hovering in the moment and trying as hard as she can to freeze it in her mind, to crystallize it, to preserve it and protect it from ever fading. Her heart beats and her core aches, thrumming with her heartbeat, and Rinea knows what she wants, but she holds still, just for a moment, reminding herself that this, this is love, this is what she's missed.  
  
"Should you want it," Rinea murmurs. "There will always be a home for you at my side. I will wait for you when you need to leave, and you will always be welcomed back when you return. Perhaps this wasn't what we'd intended, in that last night we spent together, but…" she shakes her head. "I have more of a home now than I did for my whole life before I met you, and it's because of you that I'm here now. I have a house that is my own, I have the twins, I have friends, I have a whole village that welcomed me with open arms, I have a garden and I'm learning so, so much, thanks to the world that you've introduced me to. I have all I could ever ask for— but it isn't complete without you. I want you in this home I've built, Sonya. I want you to stay."  
  
She feels Sonya swallow, and she hears her breathe. "Then I will stay," she says. "I want to learn this home you've made, and I want to be there for you as you build it."  
  
"We'll build it together," Rinea says. "I love you."  
  
"And I love you, sweet Rinea," Sonya replies. "May I kiss you?"  
  
Rinea smiles. "Please do."  
  
And Sonya does, and the moonflowers glow like the fireflies and the stars above.

**Author's Note:**

> and that's how marianne was conceived


End file.
